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Message-ID: <62099asstr$1334657403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Double Limbo - F" -- Uther -- MF wl
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Date: Tue, 17 Apr 2012 06:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read
electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

This material is copyright, 2011, Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I
specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy
for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting
requires previous permission.

If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at
nogardneprethu@gmail.com.

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures
in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.



Double Limbo - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com

MF wl


Saturday morning, after one more round of morning love to say good bye to
their bed, they checked out. They ate lunch in another of the hotel's
restaurants. They were back in Evanston in the early afternoon. Andy set
down their luggage to give two short rings on the bell. Then he opened the
door with his own key. He carried her across the threshold. She greeted the
family while he took their luggage up to his -- now their -- room.

"What the!.." he shouted above her head.

"It's a new mattress," his dad began. Andy came downstairs.

"Since there's only one of me and there's two of you," he continued, "I
figured that the double bed belonged in there. It's a new mattress, and
there are new sheets." Well, a double bed had been more fun.

"You're very kind," she told Mr. Trainor -- Mr. Trainor senior.

"Selfish. The more comfortable you are, the likelier you are to visit."

After a little more talk, she walked over to her house -- her parents'
house. Andy looked at her and then at his dad before she left. He seemed to
want to go with her -- to protect her? -- but that wouldn't be appropriate.
Mom was, in fact, nice. All their recent battles were over. She was married
to Andy, and Mom could have no objection to her sleeping with him. Mom
believed in monogamy, and that meant she wouldn't urge Marilyn to seek
another man. The wedding was over; they'd each got some of their way on
that. But those battles were definitely in the past.

"It seems your sisters all had nice things to say about Andy," Mom said.
Well, what did you expect on his wedding day. Zates could be critical, even
catty, but they didn't dump on your decision when it was clearly your
decision. Besides, the Zates present had included Barbara and Brittany.

"Yes, Mom, Andy's fairly popular with the chapter. They see him around;
they see how he treats me; they see him being helpful."

"Are other boys so violent, then?"

"Well, I wasn't thinking of violence. Although some girls on campus have
been date-raped. We had a freshman this year get groped at a school dance.
And a few boys get violent in other ways. But those are the minority.
Verbal abuse is much more frequent. Well, Andy doesn't do any of those
things. Besides which, he is formally polite -- carrying packages, opening
doors. They've never seen him drunk; *I've* never seen him drunk.

"Those are the negatives he lacks. Beyond that he's nice."

"Well, dear..." Marilyn was trying to sell an issue which had been decided.
She changed the subject.

"I'm really grateful for all you put into the wedding." Which lumped the
cash in neatly with the planning. Well, some of the planning had been
helpful. "It's a day that I'll remember for the rest of my life."

"Well, dear, you're staying there?" Mom changed to another topic.

"We could hardly stay here." Pete the Pervert would be listening at their
door.

"You will Come to dinner, you and Andy?"

"Sure. Do you want to invite Andy's family, too?"

"Well, we do owe Jim Trainor a dinner." Now, that was interesting. She
couldn't mean the rehearsal dinner.

"If you invite us and him this week, you should really invite his
daughters, too." That would cram the table, though. Mom wouldn't
deliberately choose a night when Pete was otherwise engaged. "You've barely
met the girls, but they're quite nice."

"Well, why don't we say you and Andy for Monday?"

"That's fine. I'll convey the invitation."

"The wife makes the couple's social engagements by herself."

"Yeah, Mom, but I'm a very new wife. I don't know what other commitments he
has. We didn't spend the week merging our calendars. We had other things to
do."

"And you complain about Pete! Don't think I believe for one minute that you
were that busy that way for an entire week."

"You're right on both counts, Mom. I suppose I should manage his social
life. It's just that all my thoughts about social life culminated one week
ago."

"Well, on your social life of one week ago, I've got the wedding gifts with
a list of who gave them in your room upstairs. I must say the toaster oven
from the MacGregors impressed me. They were invited simply as the parents
of a bridesmaid. Half the church members who attended gave nothing."

"They brought their attendance, their witness. Loads of them didn't go to
the reception, either." And their attendance at the ceremony hadn't cost
the family anything. "As to Barbara's parents, she was one of the girls
Andy tutored. They might be grateful for that. But you're right. I have to
get on the thank-you notes. But let's put that off 'til Monday."

Back at Andy's house -- now their house -- she rang the bell. April opened
the door.

"It's Marilyn!" she yelled to the rest of the family.

"I'm sorry, Marilyn," Mr. Trainor said, "I didn't give you this." He got a
key out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Too many other things on my
mind."

"Or Alzheimer's," Molly said.

"What's that? I forget what we were talking about." His children laughed.

"Before I forget, Andy, Mom invited you and me to dinner Monday. I said a
tentative yes. Are you free?"

"As a bird. I don't have anything to do except with the people here."

"Well," said his dad, "you need to get some formalities taken care of."

"Yes, but Marilyn is one of the people here. I thought we'd go down to the
bank Monday to get her name on the account. Is it okay to wait until we're
back to do that on the Champaign account?" That seemed to be addressed to
her.

"Quite all right." Andy had two bank accounts, savings up here and checking
in Champaign.

"If they're having you over, I think we ought to invite your family. How
does Wednesday sound?" Mr. Trainor looked around. "I know you can't speak
for your family, Marilyn, but does anyone here have any conflicts?"

"You might want to invite just my parents."

"And not Pete?" asked Molly. Well, for a great many reasons, not least
Molly's interest in him.

"Listen, my new sister, I don't mind if your dad invites him. That's his
choice. But you be careful. I know that guy. Don't get in any back seats
with him."

"Marilyn!"

"I'm not saying to stay out of back seats with boys in general. That would
be not only hypocritical, but... You're a high-school graduate?"

"Yeah."

"Years too late." How many years she wouldn't say while both April and her
dad were listening. "I'm saying watch out for this particular guy. I've
heard him talk about girls, and he's only out to score."

"He did tell me," Andy said, "that the game was getting sex from a woman
without marrying her. According to him, I'd lost. I told him that was like
telling Babe Ruth he'd lost because he hadn't scored a touchdown. I'd won
the World Series in the game I was playing." That was sweet of Andy.

"The whole family," said Mr. Trainor. "Pete will sit next to Molly, and
I'll get a set of handcuffs for him." His kids laughed again. When he
called to give the invitation, he confirmed that she and Andy would go
there on Monday.

Dinner was order-out pizza. Everybody got to choose one topping. She was
asked last, which surprised her at first. Mr. Trainor seemed to defer to
her so regularly. Then she realized that the last place was a privilege. If
your first choice was named by somebody else, then you got it and your
second choice, too. Even so, five toppings on a pizza seemed excessive. She
realized, though that the Trainors were used to four.

That night, she saw the bed for the first time. The frame was old and
solid, made of a dark wood. The mattress felt new. Its surface was flat and
firm. The sheets were new; you could see the remains of the creases that
had been folds in the package. Conscious of the ears around them, they made
slow, quiet love. When her first climaxes hit, Andy was kissing her. When
he was in her, however, and the feeling was most intense, his face was
inches from hers, and their mouths were not aligned.

"Ah!" she cried as the lightning struck.

"Oh, darling," he said as he pulsed within her. He was heavy on her as she
recovered. She delighted in his weight, but began worrying about the noise
they'd made.

"Do you think they heard us?" she whispered in his ear.

"No." But he sounded doubtful. They arranged themselves in the spoon. "I
love you," he whispered into her hair. She hugged his arm and he hugged her
in response. He loved her, and she loved him. She'd been silly to worry
about the ratio.

Sunday morning was hectic with five people trying to shower with only one
bathroom. In deference to his family, Andy didn't even suggest showering
together. The Trainors had a small room with a toilet, sink, and medicine
cabinet downstairs. She put her at-home makeup, as opposed to what she
carried in her purse, on the bottom shelf of the medicine cabinet. The only
other materials there were a bottle of Tylenol and a package of bandages.

When they were getting their seats in church, she suddenly realized that
she wasn't sitting *with* the Trainor family. She was sitting there *as
part* of the Trainor family. After church, people came around to
congratulate them, and Mom and Dad stood near to share the congratulations.
Mr. Trainor had anticipated this and had made his reservations a half hour
later than usual.

She rode in the back seat between Andy and April when the entire family was
in the car. On the way back, April asked her, "What brought on that problem
at the last minute? At the wedding, I mean. I thought you loved Andy."

"I do, and I did then. I was just being silly."

"It wasn't silly at all," Mr. Trainor said from the front seat. "Marriage
is a leap into the dark, a lifetime commitment. She wasn't ready for
marriage, and she realized that at the last moment. But most marriages
occur when the couple isn't ready for marriage. Indeed, you can't really be
ready for marriage before it happens, no more than a new-born infant is
ready for birth. It's almost traditional for brides to panic at the last
minute. It's traditional for someone to calm them down if that happens."

"Your father talked me though it."

"I dealt with the expressed problem, and that got her attention off the
underlying problem, which was that it is a leap into the dark."

"What was the problem?" Andy asked. "The expressed problem, that is."

"Well," she told him. "I decided that, however much I loved you, it wasn't
as much as you loved me. You'd given me an image of love, and I wasn't
living up to it."

"I do love you."

"And I love you, too. I'm just worried that it's not so much."

"If it would make you happier, Marilyn," his dad said, "I suspect that much
of what Andy calls love is really selfishness. He wants to have you in his
life."

"But I want her to be happy, too. All right, that's a requirement for the
other. I couldn't have her long if I make her unhappy. But it's a separate
desire. I want to see Marilyn happy. I want to make her happy."

"Well, you can't," his dad told him. "One person can make another unhappy.
One person can't make another happy, although they can provide the
circumstances that tend to increase happiness in that person."

"Well, I'll try that, then."

"And if your wife is wise, she'll let you know what those circumstances
are." Which was advice she should take.

That night, he held her in the spoon position with his hand between her
legs. She moaned into a pillow as the lightning struck again and again.
When, finally, he entered her, he rested inside while stroking her still.

"I love you; I love you," he whispered when he finally moved inside her.
His motions and her squirming responses seemed to go on forever. When he
moaned and thrust harder against her, she climaxed as well. He tucked the
sheet over her. She was partly recovered when she felt him, no longer
stiff, slide out. She thought of the conversation that afternoon in the car.

"Well, darling," she said, "you've learned one way to make me happy,
anyway."

"I love you, you know. This makes us both happy."

Monday, they ate breakfast with Andy's dad. The girls were still asleep,
and she and Andy wore nightwear. It was the first time she'd seen Andy in
pajamas. When he was with her, even when the room was cold, he put on a
robe -- if that. After breakfast, still before the girls awoke, they had
separate showers.

Mrs. Bryant came in before Molly and April got up.

"You didn't need to make the bed," Mrs. Bryant told her later when they
were alone. "I do that. I do all the cleaning and straightening except
Andy's bookshelves and waste paper."

"I didn't. Andy did. You have enough to do with four rooms occupied and
five mouths to feed. By the way, Andy and I won't be at dinner tonight."
She figured that the news of the guests wasn't for her to give. This wasn't
her employee; she was a guest in the house.

"I'm not worried about amounts. With Andy home, all the left-overs will be
eaten before they spoil."

The girls wanted to go shopping, when they had risen and eaten. They
actually wanted Andy to drive them.

"Let's walk," Andy replied. "It's not far, and I want you to know the way
back. I think Marilyn and I will be back for lunch," he told Mrs. Bryant.
April and Molly said that they'd eat in town. They were, at least, going to
do their shopping in Evanston. "Did Marilyn tell you?" Andy asked Mrs.
Bryant. "We're having three guests Wednesday. Eight in all. Her family."

They walked the girls to downtown Evanston. Andy took her on to his bank,
and they got her name on the savings account. It really was a brand-new
account in both their names. The bank closed his old account. He handed her
the passbook as they were leaving.

"Which of us should keep this? You're in charge of chores. Handling the
money might not be quite the same thing, but it makes sense for you to
assign that as well."

"You should keep it. Andy it's *your* money."

"Not since the ninth. Is it okay if we don't officially transfer car title?
I think there's a charge for that."

"Andy, it's perfectly all right."

"I've given you the keys, right?" he asked as they went out the door. He
reached to his key ring. "Nope! They're here. Sorry about that." He handed
her three keys. She gave him her key ring instead of accepting them.

"Take your apartment keys off, too, will you? I'm bad about that." Andy was
always so skilled with key rings. She always risked breaking a fingernail.
This time, too, he got both old keys off and three new keys on.

"The one which isn't a car key is to the garage. You can use it, but maybe
you want to ask me or dad to get the garage open if it's closed. Anyway, if
there's anything else I've forgotten, let me know."

"Well, it is an awfully long time since I was kissed." So he took care of
that, right on the street.

They ate lunch with Mrs. Bryant. The main course was sloppy joes. They were
flavored with green pepper, onions, and at least one spice out of a jar.
Andy took three, and loaded the buns heavily. There was also a salad. The
beverage was water, which rather surprised her. Her family had always had
soda on hand for the kids. Well, maybe she wasn't a kid anymore, but a
married woman.

"Are you tired of the baked ham, Mrs. Trainor?"

"Marilyn, please. The baked ham was six months ago, and it was delicious."

"I thought I'd do that, then. Your parents have had the roast beef, Ms
Marilyn, and the ham will serve any number." Marilyn accepted the name
silently. She figured that 'Ms Marilyn' was as good a compromise as she was
going to get. "Andy," Mrs. Bryant continued. "could you get a shopping list
for me?"

"Sure, but you should really ask Marilyn for my services. She assigns
chores in this marriage." Andy was going way too far, and she gave him a
look to show it. "Anything else you want to add?" That was addressed to her.

"Well, maybe. Mrs. Bryant, do you have eggs and bacon."

"Bacon. If you want many eggs, Andy should add them to the list." Andy did
so, and left. Mrs. Bryant got up to put the dishes in the sink and the
left-over sloppy-joe mix in the refrigerator. "Did the mister tell you that
I won't go in your room if the door is closed? If you want anything cleaned
up, leave the door open." And when she didn't want to be disturbed, she
could just shut the door. When Andy got back she led him upstairs. Behind
the closed door, they had a nice cuddle. They were leaving sex to the
nighttime, but privacy invited the sort of intimacy that they'd had before
they'd gone all the way. And even though they did stop, the fact that they
didn't have to stop added spice to their kisses.

When the girls got back, Molly had bought a charm for her bracelet, and
April had bought nothing.

"In a tenth of the time you took," Andy said, "I filled a large grocery bag
and carried it home."

"Andy," she said, "they weren't buying. They were shopping." He looked
puzzled. "Males!" It wasn't just Andy who couldn't see the pleasure. Well,
if time would allow, she'd take them down to the Loop and show them real
shopping.

Before dinner, they went upstairs to change. They got a little more
cuddling in, too, but she came down looking, if she said so herself, suave.
It was a mild day, and they walked. Andy took a umbrella just in case.

Mom and Dad were on their best behavior. Dinner was Mom's lamb chops, which
Marilyn knew were a lot of trouble to cook.

"Yummy," she said. "I never got the hang of these."

"If you'd like, I could give you one more practice session."

"Mom. We've planned out our budget. I'm not buying a single lamb chop in
the next year. What I need practice on is mac and cheese. Now, if we end up
in Evanston..."

"Are you planning to work in the Chicago region?" Dad asked.

"Good question," Andy said. "But one that it's way too early to answer."

"Look," Mom said, "you two can discuss business later. What did you and
your father think of the wedding?"

"Well, Dad can speak for himself. He hasn't expressed any opinion except to
accept that Marilyn is married to me. And, really, that's what I came away
with. It was a fine ceremony and a fine reception, but the important part
was, 'I now pronounce you man and wife.'"

"You sound like you'd have preferred a justice of the peace."

"Ah, but the issue I cared about was the woman I married. I think Marilyn
wanted that ceremony and that reception. Certainly, she wanted her sisters
there. I get the impression that Zeta is important to you, too."

"Yes," Mom admitted. "It is."

"Well, while this is simply news you can send your chapter, Marilyn's
chapter was well represented. I expect everyone will have heard every
detail by the end of August."

"And," she pointed out, "the state board was represented, too. Of course,
it won't be so important to them."

"If half of them weren't convinced that you were pregnant..."

"Well," Andy said. "They'll learn otherwise. Maybe we should send you
occasional snapshots. Like kidnap victims, she could be holding a current
newspaper above her flat belly."

"I wouldn't be that blatant. I'm considering picturing the two of you on a
Christmas card, though." Mom was being subtle -- for Mom. "But, you would
have avoided all that if you'd waited another year."

"There would have been several advantages for waiting another year," she
said. "In total, they didn't compete with the advantages of marrying when
we did."

"What were they?" Pete asked.

"Pete, you are too young to be a dirty old man." There must be advantages
beyond the sexual, but right then she couldn't think of any.

"Pete!" said Dad, and Pete shut up.

After peach cobbler, Pete went out, she and Mom headed for the wedding
presents, and Andy and Dad settled in the living room for a talk. She hoped
they could keep it civil.

Mom gave her a list of the gifts, names, and addresses. Mom was good about
that. They then sorted out what gifts would go to the new apartment, what
gifts would be returned to the store, and what gifts would be stored here
until she and Andy had a larger place. They'd got only three bath towels,
unlike her parents, who'd stocked up on towels well into the second decade.
They'd received no sheets but one electric blanket. With decent heat, one
blanket would be enough.

"And, speaking of wedding gifts, Mom, could we have a couple of beach
towels?"

"Sure."

"I wouldn't want to use these for the beach, and the Trainor towels I've
seen look just as fancy....

"And, while you're in a generous mood," she paused and Mom waited
patiently. "You've been wonderful about the wedding, and continuing my
tuition is real generosity. But, look, Mr. Trainor, Mr. Jim Trainor, is
springing for our rent next year. Andy is paying the food budget and that
sort of thing out of money he earned and saved. I know that budget, and it
doesn't have enough space to pay for my next year's dues and parlor fee.
Even if it did, I'd feel awfully strange asking it of Andy. And I'd feel
stranger asking it of his dad." Mom said nothing. "So, I'm asking it of
you. I don't want to go on alum status for my senior year, but one reason,
the first reason, Zeta is important to me is because it was important to
you."

"Well, Marilyn, I'll ask your Father."

"Thanks, Mom, I couldn't ask for more." She knew that each of them had a
budget of 'pocket money.' They used to call it the parents' allowances in
contrast with the kids' allowances. She knew that she'd asked for more than
her Mom could spend out of that. Anything more would be a joint
consultation.

"Jim Trainor paid for Andy's apartment last year, too, didn't he?"

"Yeah, Andy figured that he could afford two years' food, but not that and
two years' rent. Mom, this is a guy who worked five summers, and doesn't
seem to have spent more than a pittance of it. And, when his dad told him a
maximum he would pay, Andy shopped around to get the cheapest apartment.
That saved his dad plenty. If you told Pete you'd spend up to so much for
his rent, he'd find a place renting within a dime a month of that."

"And stick us with the utilities, that he hadn't thought about. We have
another child who's like that, too." Well, she wasn't as bad as Pete, even
if she was closer to that than Andy was. "And this paragon wanted an
apartment of his own because?"

"All right. He knew I'd visit him there, and I couldn't get in the dorm.
Mom, you would have rather we waited for the wedding night, and we didn't.
But there was a wedding. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"It means something. I never pushed you to marry him. It's best if the
marriage comes earlier in time, but it's more vital that it come first in
importance. I would have preferred to have you wait until after the
wedding, but I also would have preferred you to delay the wedding, even
after you started sleeping with him, until you were sure."

"Well we did delay until we were sure. As a matter of fact, the discussion
for the longest time was about a wedding after graduation. After we were
sure about the rest of our lives, we were thinking of waiting to consecrate
it."

"What made you decide differently?"

"What made me decide? I can't speak for Andy on this. One thing was just
what you object to. We'd discovered sex together, started off on that
journey with only each other to guide."

"He was your first, are you sure you were his."

"Mom, believe me. That was his first. I was there for his first sex
experience and his second. Even I could tell the difference, and I was just
as green as he was. After that, my engineer went home and read the manual."

"That part doesn't sound so romantic."

"Doesn't it? Well, the bodice-ripper I left for you to return after
Christmas had a hero who was terribly skilled because of years of varied
experience. I prefer my life. One of us had to learn somewhere, and I
prefer his learning from books. And learning from books is *so* Andy."

"I keep looking at the marriage he comes from and hoping that that won't
happen to you. Don't you ever worry?"

"Do I ever stop worrying? Look, Andy loves me, his Dad says he wants me
even more. But what does he love *about* me? If it were my looks, I'd work
to keep my looks. If it were my entertaining conversation, I could keep up
with current events. If it were my sexiness, I'd subscribe to *Cosmo*. I'm
going to be sleeping in the same bed with the guy for decades; I could keep
him so drained he'd never be able to get it up for another woman.

"Do you know what his top criterion for the marriage is? Almost his single
criterion. I can make out the budget. What will be the division of
household chores? Marilyn can assign him his jobs. Where will we live?
Well, it has to be a place where he has a job offer; other than that, I can
decide. What will we eat? If I don't decide it will be out of cans. But
there is one bottom line."

"This intrigues me."

"I have to sleep in his arms every night."

"Men all think they can perform more than they really do."

"What's with your generation and sex? Andy wants sex, but he is literal
about my sleeping in his arms, or at least in one arm. He's literal about
sleeping, too. After the sex, instead of the sex if necessary, I have to
sleep cuddled up next to him. We spoon, and he has an arm around me. Let me
tell you, one of Andy's arms is something substantial to hug."

"Well, if that's what he wants and you've decided to give it to him, I
don't see what the problem is."

"As long as he wants to hold me, there is no problem. But what do I do to
make him want to keep holding me? ... Anyway, you don't think his wanting
to have sex every night would have been perverse?"

"Wanting is never perverse, darling. You're married. Projecting performance
into the distant future is megalomaniacal. I hope you stay married for a
long time, but you won't stay newlyweds."

"But my periods?"

"My sexually liberated daughter! Is he squeamish about your menstrual
blood?"

"No." For that matter, Andy seemed to treat her own squeamishness as one
more peculiarity to which he had to adjust.

"Well, you have longer experience with it than he does. You should be less
squeamish. Just make sure that you take the tampon out first. As I said,
every night will be beyond his ability; stopping for a week might well be
beyond his patience at his age." Well, she'd make her own decision, but
being what Mom called squeamish didn't match her self image.

She and Andy joined his family for a while, but they turned in early. With
three people still awake in the house, she pulled a pillow over her face
when Andy started kissing her thighs.

She had him set the alarm early, and she got up and used the downstairs
toilet. In her nightie and robe and one of Mrs. Bryant's aprons, she got
ready for breakfast. Andy had come down in his robe and pajamas and was
already eating the bacon and eggs when Mr. Trainor appeared dressed for the
office.

"Two eggs?" she asked. "Sunny-side up all right?"

"Marilyn, you didn't have to... Yes, that sounds delicious." She served
him, made her own, and sat with them. "You really didn't need to do this.
This is supposed to be your honeymoon."

"Our honeymoon was last week, and a delightful gift it was. I'm not totally
helpless in the kitchen." When Andy had eaten seconds and his dad had gone
to work, she sent him upstairs to wake his sisters. "Tell them that the
kitchen closes in 15 minutes."

Well, they took closer to 20, but both girls came down in their sleep gear
for breakfast. They were complimentary about the food, and they accepted
her decree that they would clean up and stack the dishwasher. She went up
for a shower. She was clean and dressed and downstairs putting no her face
when Mrs. Bryant got there.

"Everybody up? Ms. Marilyn, this looks like your influence."

"They took a bribe. I gather that you don't cook breakfast for them."

"Not unless Andy was sick. I used to make breakfast for little April, but
that was long ago, and she was little April then."

"Well," she asked Molly and April, "do you guys have anything planned for
today? I thought we could go down and window shop on the Magnificent Mile."

"Oh, could we?"

"If you're ready to start in less than half an hour." The girls rushed up
the stairs. "And Mrs. Bryant, since this isn't a program which will
interest Andy, could you teach him how to vacuum?"

"Sure. I can do that. Andy learns well. Lunch something cold that you three
can eat when you get back?"

"Sounds great."

Most of the shops in Evanston, after all, held goods the girls could
afford, or that their dad could afford for them. In Downtown Chicago, they
saw evening gowns that cost more than their clothes budgets since birth and
bracelets and necklaces whose sales tax amounts were higher than the gowns'
costs.

Wednesday morning, again, she cooked breakfast. She then went down to the
Secretary of State's office to get a driver's licence in her new name. Andy
took a book on some EE subject to the back yard to soak up knowledge and
sunshine simultaneously. She came back to find him embroiled in an argument
with Molly. She had wanted him to drive her to the beach, but he'd
declined. There was a bus line close, and the walk wasn't that difficult,
but Molly thought the Andy's objection had been to her swim suit.

"Marilyn, look." Molly was still wearing the suit. "Isn't this what you'd
wear?" Well, yes, it was very like the suit that Andy had appreciated on
his girl friend. That might be why he didn't approve of it on his sister.
After lunch, Marilyn decided that she'd deal with Molly.

"Why don't you put some shoes on and come for a walk?" She did, still in
the swim suit. "Look, Molly, see this?" She showed her the rings. She meant
the wedding ring, but the engagement ring was much more prominent. "That
means that your brother and I are one."

"So you make love."

"No. That's 'one flesh.'"

"You can't tell me that..."

"I'm not denying we make love. I'm saying that it's another term, a quite
similar term, but it has a different meaning. We are one. We are the same
thing in many ways. One of those ways is that if you quarrel with him,
you're automatically quarreling with me."

"Really?"

"Really. Now, I want to be your friend, but I can't be the friend of
someone who is Andy's enemy. And, really, you don't want to be Andy's
enemy. Despite sometimes feeling angry with him, you really love him. And
he loves you; he's told me so. Don't you think you can keep the peace with
him for the rest of the week?"

"You know. I have two parents, actual parents. And I have a step parent who
thinks he's my parent when he doesn't think he's my boyfriend. I don't need
another parent."

"No, you don't. And do you think your actual father would like to see you
walking on this block dressed in that suit?"

"Dad? No way. He's Victorian!"

"Okay. Well, Andy might possibly have chosen not to drive you because he
didn't want you to be seen by boys. He might have been deep in his book. He
might not want to put more miles on the car. But let's say he disapproved
of your being seen by boys in that tempting bathing suit. Even so, he
merely refused you a favor. When we went out, you still wearing the suit,
he didn't try to forbid you. He knows he's not your parent. Now, April's
parent, maybe, but a doting parent."

"Well, yes. You think I should make peace with him?"

"I would prefer it if you kept the peace with *us*."

"Okay."

"You know, you might not like to hear this, but sometimes you remind me of
him. That simple 'okay,' when you agree. Sometimes I want to keep arguing
because I can't believe that he's ended his arguments.

"Mind if I change the subject?" she said, changing the subject.

"Go ahead."

"You're going to college, right?"

"Fresno State."

"Far enough from home?"

"It's north of L A -- inland."

"Girl's school?"

"You really don't know me. It's coed."

"Well, when you get there, you'll probably meet lots of boys, some of whom
you'll like."

"Y'know. If I sometimes sound like Andy, you sometimes sound like an
English teacher."

"Good! 15 months from now I'll be supposed to sound like an English teacher
for forty hours a week. Anyway, there you'll be meeting loads of boys,
going out with some -- possibly just one."

"And you're going to warn me..."

"I'm going to advise you. If I were doing it over, and I'll admit that this
is hindsight, I would have gone down to Student Health my first week on
campus and said, 'give me a prescription for the Pill.' Now, before you've
met any of those nice boys, you'd be prepared. Actually, it takes a month
to take effect, but you don't want to go that far with a guy before you've
known him for a month."

"You aren't pregnant, are you?"

"God no! Did you think I was? Does your dad?"

"No. Dad said that you and Andy were both sensible people, and that two
sensible people don't usually have an unplanned pregnancy. But you were so,
you know, 'I didn't, and I wish I had.' Why do you wish you had?"

"Well, by the time I went to Student Health, I had chosen the guy and
decided that it was time. And, as I said, it takes a month to take effect.
But really, I think that once you're real serious about the guy, then going
on the Pill is like deciding to have sex. And -- I don't know what your
situation is, and I don't want to know -- but that's maybe a decision you
don't want to make yet. On the other hand, saying, 'I don't know what's
going to happen, so I'll be protected,' isn't deciding to have sex."

"It sounds a lot like it."

"Well, it's not. Look, like I said, I don't know how far you've gone and
that's your own business. If you have a particular situation on which you
want advice, then you come to me and ask for that advice. But I've heard a
lot of stories from girls about how they got carried away. And getting
carried away is part of the fun. Even now, when we have a marriage
certificate and everything, sometimes I get so carried away that I don't
know at the time that I'm on the Pill -- or that I'm married, or anything.
What I'm saying is that it's damned convenient that I'm on the Pill when I
get carried away."

"I'm not sure that I want to be the sort of woman who is always prepared
for sex."

"But you want to be the sort of woman after whom the boys lust. Look, that
swimsuit is designed to make all males want to tear it off. Which is fine.
But you run the risk of the wrong male's tearing it off. As for being
prepared for sex, you don't tell the guy. It's probably a bad idea to tell
the guy until you've decided that he's the one and you're ready to have sex
with him. Because he'll hear that you're willing to have sex, and if you're
not willing to have sex with him -- right then -- he'll be mortally
offended."

"So you say I shouldn't tell this imaginary guy. Did you tell Andy?"

"Well, you tell some guy some time. You don't tell any guy until it's
relevant. When I told your brother I was on the Pill, he had a
contraceptive in his hot little hand. And that's one good check point. If a
guy wants to have sex with you and he doesn't provide contraception, then
he's not worthy of having sex with you. He's not even worthy of having a
date with you." Then she thought about what she'd said. "I don't really
mean wanting."

"What do you mean, then."

"Well, if you wore that suit to the beach, a dozen guys would want to have
sex with you. I hope that none of them would haul out a contraceptive. What
the guy wants isn't the point. When he suggests sex or tries for it, then
he should provide the contraceptive. If he merely has a hardon, a proper
lady pretends she doesn't notice."

"You're full of rules."

"Well, rules for proper ladies. Making fun of them for having a hardon is
rather mean, unless you have a good reason to make fun of the boy. And,
remember, you may be giving a mortal insult to a guy who will drive you
home and is stronger than you are. Rubbing up against it on the dance floor
is slutty -- no two ways about that. Rubbing up against that while you're
making out is something else. But you want to be a proper lady in public.
What you do alone with the guy depends on your relationship with the guy."

"Contextual ethics."

"Contextual ethics. And, since the context is that we don't talk about the
sex of respectable people in public, you don't talk about anything I've
said about my sex life with anybody else, not even April."

"Not even Andy."

"Especially not Andy. You're Andy's sister. As far as you're concerned, he
doesn't have a sex life, even now that he's married."

"You talk to me."

"Well, you're my sister, too. And sisters can give hints on being women to
their younger sisters. Now, some logician might claim that if I have a sex
life, then Andy must have one as well, but the social consensus isn't
logical."

"Want to go around again?" Molly asked. They were almost at their house.

"Not really, unless you want to." So they went in and watched TV with Andy
and April. When Mrs. Bryant began setting the table for dinner, she went
upstairs to change her shoes. Andy went up with her. He rubbed her feet. He
rubbed some other places, as well, but she was quite neat when she went
downstairs again.

At dinner, Mr. Trainor sat at the head of the table, and she sat at the
foot. He seemed to be indicating that she was the hostess, which wasn't
really true. Her parents were at either side of him, with Mom, Pete, and
Molly filling up one side of the table, and Dad, April, and Andy filling up
the other. Every leaf was in the table, which gave each of them reasonable
room. Molly was dressed demurely enough. The ham was delicious as she'd
remembered it, and there was a bottle of wine on the table.

She could see Pete's eyes boggle at that. Pete had started sneaking beers
at a too-young age, and he'd been drinking with Dad's consent before she'd
left home. He probably hadn't had booze at a formal dinner before. Well, at
the reception, certainly, but not at somebody's house. Andy poured April
one, not very full, glass. Knowing what would happen if she tried for
another, she didn't. Andy nursed his glass though the meal. Her parents
enjoyed the particular wine. Pete took more than the two of them did, but
seemed to treat it as booze.

Molly, who knew about good wine even if her experience had been limited,
was seeing that Pete didn't. Marilyn could see her opinion of Pete sink
through the evening.

"Marilyn tells me, Andy, that you aced all your courses again this last
semester," Dad said. That was definitely Andy's best point that could be
shared in public. Dad must have decided to put the best face on what he'd
failed to stop.

"Yes. But this semester was all courses in my major except partial
differential equations. I needed those grades."

"Is it easier to get an A in Electrical engineering?" Pete asked.

"It's easier for Andy," she said. "The major is considered one of the more
difficult ones at the university. PDE is the top undergraduate course in
math. Our chapter maintains guides on what courses are easiest to pass.
Andy has only taken one of those, drawing."

"You didn't tell me that was on the list of hammock courses," Andy said.

"Well, you didn't ask me. I suggested that you take chorus, but you had
your reasons."

"Yeah," Andy said. "Engineers have to draw, even though they do it
differently. I thought free-hand drawing might give me an edge. Who knows
whether it did."

"You seem," Mom said, "to see everything as means to an end."

"Well, ma'am, *everything* can't be a means. You have to have ends.  But,
yes, I see course work as a means to an end. If you want to learn something
because you're curious about it, then you can read a book. If you're going
to need to know all -- a limited, but real, all -- about it, then you take
a course. Then your teacher tests you. He's supposed to be able to discern
whether you know it or not. And, of course, if you're going to sell your
ability in the field, the buyer wants to see that certification of your
knowledge from the teacher. I can't see taking a course for fun."

"Well," she pointed out, "you enjoyed swimming. You might have enjoyed
chorus, too."

"That's a point. Some things aren't learned well from books. You need your
muscles as well was your mind. I couldn't have learned driving from a book
-- or dancing."

"Book learning isn't everything," said Pete.

"No, it isn't." Andy was being polite -- agreeing as if Pete's statement
was different from something he had said.

"I'm not going to college for book learning."

"Then," Dad pointed out, "I'll be wasting a hell of a lot of money for
tuition." Dad was no more pleased with Pete than Marilyn was, same reaction
for different reasons.

"Do you have a major in mind?" Andy asked. Pete had just said that he
didn't plan on studying, but Andy had a hard time conceiving of going to
college without studying *something*.

"I'm going to college to meet girls. You did."

"To be pedantic, I met Marilyn before college. I met plenty of girls at
college, notably Marilyn's sorority sisters. Those meetings, however, were,
in your mother's distinction, means rather than ends."

"Well, I'm not going to waste my time in classrooms and libraries the way
you did."

"Since your the grounds available to you for judging whether I wasted my
classroom time were my grades, I think your judgment needs
reconsideration." She couldn't tell whether Andy had missed Pete's meaning
or he was deliberately misconstruing it. By this time, Andy was adopting
his 'I'm a sane man arguing with an idiot' tone. Which was an accurate
portrayal of the situation.

"And, Molly, you're going to college, too." Mom moved to defuse the awkward
situation. The only awkwardness was that her son was getting drunk on a
good sauterne, but Mom could never see the value of disagreement.

"Yes, ma'am. Fresno State. I'll major in business, maybe accounting." Maybe
Molly wanted to meet boys as much as Pete wanted to meet girls, but she was
too smart to set that as her only goal. She'd meet plenty of boys in
accounting class, anyway. Feminists were breaking down barriers, but maybe
fewer than boy-crazed coeds were.

"You don't want to waste all your time in classes, like your brother did,"
Pete said.

"Well, I prefer to be compared to Marilyn. She's not done with college, but
by the time she leaves, she'll have a profession and a husband -- a husband
who has his own profession. Really, if you're not preparing for a
profession as well as meeting girls, then you'd better look for a girl who
is willing to support you." Molly's tone didn't suggest that there would be
a great many who would be willing to do so.

"No way! I'm going to be the breadwinner in my family."

"Then, Pete," Dad said, "you're in the horns of a dilemma. There are jobs
which will support a wife and family, if not at the level you're used to
being supported, without a college degree. You, however, are not prepared
for any of them. A gas-station attendant or waiter won't put as much money
in your wallet as you're used to spending, much less add anything to your
attractiveness to women who are looking to be supported. Either you get an
education from your college time, or you won't have any attraction for
those women you hope to attract."

Pete poured another glass of wine. He wasn't going to answer. The
conversation moved on without really leaving the subject.

"Y'know," Andy said, "Every household in our society produces and consumes.
We don't, except for a few farmers back in the hills, produce much of what
we consume. We produce one thing and mostly consume other things."

"That's not quite true," his dad said, "you produce a great deal of what
you consume. Marilyn cooked breakfast this morning; she'll cook almost all
your meals for the next nine months. The conversation tonight is something
the people here both produced and consumed. I, at least, enjoyed most of
it. When it doesn't enter into commerce, the economists ignore it --
rightly so, usually -- but it does exist."

"Very well, Dad. But a household must consume a great deal -- of vital
necessities -- that it cannot produce. The general run of man enjoys
consumption, and endures producing for the pleasure of consuming. Marilyn
and I see our future as being among the privileged class that enjoys
producing what we will produce, as well. That makes us among the fortunate.
It's not so much that we'll be a two-income family. It's that we'll be a
four-enjoyment family, or -- at least -- three. I'll enjoy engineering,
Marilyn will enjoy teaching, and then we'll bring our paychecks home to
enjoy what they buy."

"Well," Dad said, "if you make it, more power to you. I can't quite see
enjoying engineering, myself -- or, really, teaching."

"Well, Dad," she said, "teaching day to day may be a grind, but you get a
good deal of satisfaction when your students learn."

"That's an interesting distinction," Mr. Trainor said, "some things are
pleasant to do, and other things are pleasant to have done. They give
satisfaction. Somehow, I can't think of many things which are both."

That night, going to sleep, she thought of Mr. Trainor's distinction. He'd
missed one sort of pleasure. After the pleasure brought by Andy's kisses
and strokes, the satisfaction of being filled by the man she loved, and the
short but intense pleasure of climax, there was the comfort of being held
in the spoon. Pleasure, satisfaction, and comfort. She enjoyed all three,
and Andy brought her all three. She should reciprocate, should bring him
all three.

Thursday morning, she cooked pancakes. Andy and his dad both enjoyed them.

"I keep saying that you don't have to do this, but I'm glad you do."

"Well, Mr. Trainor, remember your distinction last night. You get pleasure
from eating them; I get satisfaction from cooking them. And, too, I could
hardly eat them if I didn't serve you as well."

"You're being ambiguous." She didn't know what he was talking about. Maybe
he could tell that, because he continued, "There are three people here,
including yourself. If you're not talking to yourself, you're talking to
'Mr. Trainor.' Now, 'Jim' would be specific."

"Somehow, I don't think of Andy as being 'Mr. Trainor.' He's called me
'Mrs. Trainor' occasionally."

"A much greater accomplishment of the last semester than his GPA. Why
shouldn't he glory in it?"

"But, I'm Mrs. Trainor because I'm his wife. He was Mr. Trainor before the
marriage. I think of him as Andy. He knows to whom I'm talking when I use
your name."

She cooked for Molly and April, as well. The bribe got them out of bed at a
reasonable time. After breakfast, she suggested a walk with April. Walking
outside the house was the Trainor method of getting a private conversation.
This made her all the more nervous about her activities with Andy being
overheard at night.

"Well, what has your life been like this year?" She asked April when they
were on their way. "I've been so busy with my own. Your sister has
graduated, which was expected. I don't know what you've been doing." April
handed her a photo. He looked like a very ordinary high-schooler.

"That's Tony."

"Presumably meaning that he's significant in your life. Is he in your
grade?"

"He's a year ahead. He'll be a junior this year." Which was good and bad.
That meant that April had two more years of his company at most. It also
meant that he'd be ahead of her and pressing her for the intimacies he
believed were the right of boys his age. But she kept those worries to
herself.

"How long have you known him?"

"Just this last year. He wasn't in my middle school."

"And how long have you been dating him?"

"What makes you think..."

"C'mon April. I asked what's been up in your life this year. You showed me
this picture. For that matter, you brought it downstairs to show me. I'm
not prying, or if I am, you invite it. What is your relationship with Tony?
How much do you want to tell me?"

"You can't tell anyone."

"That's the rule of this talk. We not only can't tell what the other one
answers, we can't even tell about our questions." Of course, she'd break
her word, and break April's trust in her, if it was absolutely necessary.
If April was about to elope, Marilyn's lips would get unsealed damn fast.

"Well, it's not quite dates."

"Who knows about him, anyway? Your mom? Your dad? Your sister?" Molly would
have been some protection in the past year. A hundred miles away, she
wouldn't be much help in the future.

"Well, they know something. Not Dad."

"So they know he's your friend, but not how significant a friend. I don't
know that, either."

"They don't understand."

"If you aren't specific, they never will."

"Well, you found your love. Why can't I have found mine?"

"What kind of friend is he anyway? You don't precisely date. What are the
imprecise dates?"

"We talk."

"That's good." It was damn dangerous, but they had to talk. "You say that
he might be the love of your life. Is the feeling mutual?"

"There's no 'might' about it. He's the man I'll love forever."

"Well, you didn't say it like that before. Let me tell you a story about
Marilyn. Sorry to talk about myself when this was supposed to be about you,
but you don't sound quite ready to talk about April.

"Anyway, most of my 11th grade year and all of my 12th grade year I was
going with this guy. During the later part of it we were going steady.
Before we got to that stage formally, we were really only dating each
other. When, in my senior year, a perfectly nice guy asked me for a date, I
turned him down because I had found my steady. The summer after I
graduated, I was a little older than Molly is now and in precisely the same
educational situation, we got more serious. We were going off together away
from other people. Well, he wanted sex. I wasn't ready yet. He tried to
make me, and we broke up.

"Even that wasn't the first time that I'd been in love. What I'm saying to
you is that this guy, Tony, is the boy you love. He might be the last boy
you love. Realistically, he might not."

"You only love once."

"Bullshit! When you fall in love, you tell yourself that the previous love
wasn't real. When you fall in love at your age, your elders tell you that
it's 'puppy love,' and not real. Those are all lies. Now, some of what is
called love in high school isn't love. But what people call puppy love
isn't what I mean.

"You desperately need a date. If you don't have a date, you're a social
zero and your friends -- some 'friends' -- will think you're a sexual zero.
You get a date. The guy tells you he loves you because he knows you won't
get into the back seat unless he does. You tell him you love him because
only an utter slut would get in the back seat with a boy if she didn't love
him. But, in fact, neither one of you is in love. You're, at best, in love
with being in love."

"This isn't like that."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm saying that there is real love at your age. I
felt real love not all that much older than you are. I'm also saying that
the one we love can change. You're growing -- growing emotionally even more
than you're changing physically. He's growing. If his growth is different
from yours, and boys grow emotionally way differently from how girls grow,
the growth is as extreme. And I've talked about males and females; the
truth is that different males change differently and so do different
females. The track of my life is not the same as the track of Molly's life
is not the same as the track of your life."

"You don't think that Tony and I have a future."

"I didn't say that. I said that there is a *possibility* that Tony and you
will grow apart. There is also the possibility that you two will grow
together. It's happened. But, since both possibilities exist, the wise
woman will live in a way that make both possibilities bearable."

"Well, I couldn't bear it if something happened to separate us."

"Depends on what. If Tony grows to want somebody else or a totally
different kind of woman than the one you're growing into and you remain in
love with him, it will hurt like hell. If, on the other hand, he grows into
the sort of man you can't stand, or even can't respect, it will hurt you
much less. In that case, some day you will look back and say. 'That guy! I
couldn't love him now. I thought I loved him when I was in 9th grade, but I
was wrong.' Really, though, you'll be wronging your present self if you do.
The future you will be patronizing the present you the same way that the
adults who talk of puppy love are patronizing you now -- or would be
patronizing you if you told them."

"So, when do you know, know for sure?"

"You don't. When you both stop changing, then you should be able to be
sure, but you never stop changing. Maybe on your death bed or something.
But, short of that, you don't know. You just make a leap into the dark.
Still, the later you make that leap, the better your odds."

"Dad thought that you should have waited another year."

"Yeah, everybody did. Everybody except the two of us. The problem was that
we couldn't wait *more* than another year. If we did, we'd start our lives
in different places, probably different states. So the question was what
would we learn by waiting a year. It didn't look like we would learn much."

"You say you've been in love before. I don't think Andy has."

"Yeah. And that scares me shitless. Look, as I told you, when I was in love
with Colin, I turned down any chance for love to develop between Andy and
me. I know myself; I'm not going to allow anyone else to creep into
position to be my love in competition with my love for Andy. Andy is
honest; he keeps his promises. And he's promised to stick to me for life.
On the other hand, I don't think he would have let any promise keep him
from pursuing me. So my love for Andy grew, and I won't let any competitive
seeds any space to grow. That's my wedding vow. I get the impression that
your brother was hit by a thunderbolt. I haven't the foggiest notion as to
how to shelter him from another thunderbolt.

"Look, this is all private. Just because I worry about something like that
happening sometime in the future doesn't mean your brother is guilty, or
10% guilty, or something, of looking outside his marriage vows."

"Sure. I don't think he will, anyway."

"Anyway, enough about me. What will you do? And I can't wait to hear about
these almost dates." Well they were more secret than almost. When they went
to a movie, they entered separately and sat together. The two met and
talked. Tony had a family as troubled as April's own. His father had
remarried and hardly saw his kid. His mother hadn't remarried, but she'd
had several live-in boyfriends. Marilyn would call them affairs.

She got the idea that April was in little danger of getting into Tony's
back seat anytime soon. He didn't have a car; his mother had two jobs which
made her car unavailable for Tony. They kissed, but they talked more. April
made it sound as though kissing was as far as they'd gone.

She enjoyed the girls' visit, even though it put a crimp in her love making
with Andy. They might not listen at doors, but they were too close for
Marilyn to be sure of privacy. She lay in the spoon position with a pillow
close to her mouth and Andy's hand between her legs. When he came in her,
that position kept their motions from shaking the bed too much.

Sunday, they saw the girls off on their flight. Everyone left in the house
took a siesta afterwards. She and Andy cuddled. Andy considered 'every
night in my arms' a minimum. He was eager to have her in his arms at other
times, too.

Jim Trainor took them out for dinner that night. He sprang on them that
Mrs. Bryant would be coming in only in the mornings for the rest of the
summer.

"Y'know, I never give her a vacation." This was so transparently a way to
give her and Andy some time for sex with no other ears in the house that
she had to restrain herself from thanking him. She couldn't say anything
without bringing up the unmentionable.

Monday, she stretched her breakfast repertoire to an omelet. She started a
load of dishes before she and Andy went out to sun in the back yard. Andy
was happier about her bikini when no other males could see it. Applying the
sun screen to each other was still sex play as much as it had been before.
When they lay down on the towels, they kept their voices low enough that
Mrs. Bryant wouldn't overhear them.

"You've made a real conquest of the old man," Andy said.

"God, I'm so grateful to him. This giving us some time alone is only the
latest."

"You'd think he wants this marriage to succeed. Well, you scored a
gazillion points with him when you made The Moppet a bridesmaid."

"April was an excellent bridesmaid, and didn't look anything like a moppet.
Your little sister is growing up."

"Happens to the best of them. At least she hasn't got as nasty as Molly got
at that age. You might have something to do with that, too."

"Love me, love my dog -- er -- groom."

"I'm your dog. Pet me and I'll roll over for you. Feed me and I'll lick
your lips."

"Which lips being carefully unspecified."

"Well, we dogs have problems getting up high." The teasing continued, but
they talked seriously, too. He'd bought two books for future courses. In
her absence during June, he'd nearly got through one of them. She was
worried that she couldn't cook enough cheap meals to last them for 9 months.

"Everything you cook is delicious."

"You won't think so after the 20th repetition." Although he might. After
all, before she'd tried to civilize him, he'd opened a can for lunch and
finished it for dinner without any heating. But *she* would damn-well get
tired of the same ten dishes. She worried about that, and the hand he held
out to her wasn't enough comfort. They lay side by side soaking up the sun
in silence.

When Mrs. Bryant called them in for lunch, they brought the beach towels
with them. They draped them over the chairs to protect them from the sun
screen.

"Now, Andy," Mrs. Bryant said, "I just made your bed with new-bought
sheets. That sun screen would be awfully hard to get out of those sheets."

"Yes, ma'am. We'll take a shower." If Mrs. Bryant noticed the singular for
shower, she didn't show it. Well, after she went home they would shower
together. She and Andy weren't especially noisy lovers. Even in the back
seat of a sealed car parked a mile from anyone else, he'd whispered his
passionate love to her. Even so, the past week had worn on their nerves.
They'd been constantly conscious of three pair of ears which might overhear
anything.

Now, they were going to have the entire house to themselves. After Mrs.
Bryant left, they went upstairs in their swim suits. Andy turned off the
air conditioner while she stripped off the bedspread and top sheet from the
bed that Mrs. Bryant had carefully made.

"'Yes, ma'am?'" she asked Andy. His relationship with the housekeeper was
complex beyond her understanding.

"Dad always insisted that she was in charge. And he required her to require
us to speak to her politely. The Moppet was four when she started. If she
demanded something, Mrs. Bryant would say, 'What's the magic word?' If *I*
demanded a snack, she'd ignore me the first time. The second time, she'd
tell me that she didn't fix food for rude boys. Well, I learned to ask her
for things. And she'd ask me for things. If I didn't do what she'd asked,
she'd tell me what to do. If I didn't do that, she'd report me to Dad.

"Our relationship changed as I grew older, but Dad never actually told me
that any rules had changed. I really think that she and I worked out our
own *modus vivendi*. But she's always been in charge. Well, I promised her
that we would take *a* shower...." While he'd been speaking, he'd taken off
his swimming trunks and then her bikini. He put them both on top of his
dresser.

They walked to the bathroom quite naked. His cock was already at half mast.
Under the shower, they washed off all the sun screen. He also meticulously
washed the parts that the sun screen had missed because the bikini had
covered them. When she tried to be equally meticulous with him, he pulled
back.

"Careful there. I think I'm on a hair trigger." They dried each other off
and then ran back into their room. Daring or not, he closed the door. She
dropped onto the middle of the bed and spread hands and feet.

He crawled over the foot of the bed and began nibbling at her left ankle.
He took his time getting to the top of her thigh. When his mouth was where
it belonged, she shuddered and grabbed his hair to pull him against her.
She felt him lick her outer lips, then lick the inner ones open. Still, he
didn't quite reach her clit.

"Damn you, Andy! Just a little bit higher." All that got her was for him to
move his head back. She tugged so hard against that motion that she must
have got some of his hair.

"Did you say something? Your thighs were covering my ears."

"Come on! Give it to me!" She almost shouted the last. He returned to her
pussy mouth and licked up her cleft again. This time, though, he did reach
her clit. "Yes!" Two more licks and the lightning struck. She moaned. He
sucked her clit softly while lightning struck again and again and she
rolled all over the bed.

When she couldn't manage another motion he relented. He kissed down her
right leg to that ankle while she gasped. His path back up used kisses
alternating from one leg to another. By the time he got to her thighs, he
was licking as well as kissing. He was trying to arouse her again, but...

"You used up everything I had that last time. I'm surprised I even
survived."

"I'm not trying anything. I'm just kissing." Yeah, right. Had she regarded
Andy as honest? Not in bed, he wasn't. But he tickled her thighs with his
tongue before dipping it into her navel until she rolled back and forth in
an attempt to escape. Then he pressed his mouth against her mound. He
breathed in and out through the hair there, and she felt a stirring of
renewed arousal.

When his tongue went back to her pussy mouth, he touched her clit again.
She shivered with the sensation. He passed one finger and then two into her
pussy, pressing upwards as they moved back and forth.

Her sexual feelings, rising from the dead, started to spiral upwards again.
Andy kept his fingers still while he licked her cleft upwards to her clit.
Then he rested his mouth unmoving against her while his fingers wiggled
within her. She tensed; she could feel that the lightning was close.

"I love you," Andy told her, or perhaps told her pussy. That was where his
mouth was, anyway. Now, neither tongue nor fingers were moving. Finally,
the fingers started moving in and out while still pressing upwards. His
tongue licked her cleft more slowly than ever. When it reached her clit,
the lightning struck again. Andy sucked her clit while stroking those
fingers all around inside her. He didn't stop until she sobbed.

As she slowly recovered, he was cupping her mound and kissing her tits. He
was avoiding her nipples, which must have cost him some effort considering
how heavily her chest was heaving.

"I love you," he said when she'd nearly recovered. He gave her a long, deep
kiss before heading back to her tits. He started stroking her inner lips
with his finger.

She grabbed at his cock, but he evaded her.

"Marilyn, I'm..." Her second grab was successful. She tightened her grip.
It always felt bigger inside her than it felt in her hand, but this time it
felt big even to her fingers.

"No way, boy. You're not going to drive me to climax after climax until I'm
left as a sad puddle soaking into the mattress. I'm putting this into me.
You come along if you want to stay attached." Under that threat, he moved
between her legs. She guided him into her entry, not letting go until the
tip was parting her lips. Then he spread her, filled her, with his hard
heat.

"I love you," he said after kissing her forehead.

"I love you, too." And then he was moving slowly and firmly in and out. By
his third stroke, her hips were driving her upwards to engulf him. The heat
gathered right where he was rubbing inside her. She grabbed his ass and
pulled him deeper into her as the lightning struck. Then she was skewered
to the mattress as he pulsed deep within her.

When he collapsed, he rolled carrying her to her right. Her leg was trapped
by his, and her hand was pressed into the bed by his hip. She was gasping
into his neck, and she could hear him gasping somewhere near the top of her
head.

When she woke up, he was holding her in the spoon. He was breathing against
her hair. His breath sounded like he was asleep, too.

"Oh, Andy," she said.

"Darling!" he said. He hadn't been deeply asleep. "I love you." He moved
back until only her ass was touching him. "I love you," he shouted. He came
back into the cuddle. "I adore you," he whispered. "I lust after your sweet
body. It's unbelievable that those beautiful climaxes are partly in
response to actions of mine." Partly? What other cause did he have in mind?
"That makes me so proud and so possessive. I can't let you go, Mrs.
Trainor." She didn't have anything to hold but his arm, so she petted that.
She brought his hand to her lips to kiss every finger and then to suck them
one by one. Too bad it was the right hand; the left one held the ring.

"I love you, too. Slide your left hand under me." She lifted up a little on
her elbow, and he accomplished that. She held his hand so their rings
clicked. "Married," she said.

"Married. Tell me you'll stay with me forever."

"As long as we both shall live. I'll lie in your arms, or at least your
arm, every night. Afternoons are optional and occasional. Tell me you'll
stay with me as long as we both shall live." He'd already said that once,
in front of God and a large number of witnesses.

"I'll never leave you. You'd have to drive me away. Promise that you'll
teach me how to keep you happy." This had been a good start, no matter how
much she'd bitched when he had her on edge.

"Well, this was a good start.... Remember your dad's distinction? Well he
missed one. You have pleasure and satisfaction, but you also have
contentment. You brought me pleasure, ecstacy, earlier, but this is another
kind of happiness. The contentment of lying in your arms."

"You like it, too?"

"I like it, too. I feel that you're not only embracing me, you're
protecting me."

"I am. I will." And she would treasure that promise. While Andy wasn't what
you'd ask for in a bodyguard -- he was totally unathletic and didn't seem
to have any history of fighting -- there was an awful lot of him. The
forearm, which was all that she got to hug in this position, was something
substantial in itself.

And how else could Andy keep her happy? Well, when the occasion arose,
she'd tell him. Actually, while they were in a double limbo -- they were
taking a break before going to their positions as married students which
would end after the school year -- Andy was doing what he could to make
that a success, studying the book of one of his future subjects. She was
clear that, while she'd stand by her man, she'd be *happier* if he were
successful.

It wasn't only money, it was respect. She was going to be Mrs. Marilyn
Trainor, English teacher, but she was also going to be Mrs. Andy Trainor,
wife to that engineer over there. It would be nice if he were a successful
engineer. Not that she was certain what a successful engineer looked like.
She already suspected that Andy wasn't likely to make a very good
executive. But he seemed to think that one could be a successful engineer
without crossing that divide. Since she didn't plan on going into school
administration, she was hardly in shape to criticize.

But they still had to get through this coming year. Andy's dad had hinted
strongly that he could be depended upon for back-up if they didn't make it
on their own. She realized, however, that Andy was determined that they
make it on their own. He was committed to her happiness; she should be
equally committed to his. Somehow, this was even more important on the
issue of getting through the year financially. She saw clearly that Andy
could sail through the year by himself. He simply didn't require anything
but the bare minimum. She saw that most of his expenditures for the past
year had been for her.

Well, how to get through the year? She knew the budget, and the food part
of the budget would be her responsibility. The difference between scraping
by and relative opulence was sitting on her left hand. It didn't matter
that Andy had been willing -- eager -- to spend more for the ring; it had
been her decision. And, she was quite clear, it would be possible to feed
the two of them with that food budget. She'd taken account of Andy's
appetite. But would it be possible for *Marilyn* to feed the two of them on
that food budget? She knew how to cook only a few dishes, and more than
half of these were expensive show-off dishes. Beef Stroganoff would eat up
half a week's food budget for one meal. The other dishes tended towards
lunches and snacks. She could feed Andy hamburgers, sloppy joes, toasted
cheese sandwiches, and the like. Those didn't feel like meals to her. They
were fine for once-a-week supper, even for lunch every day, but they didn't
add up to a three meal a day, seven days a week, menu.

"I love you," she said. She loved him, and she'd keep house for him. She'd
just have to learn awfully fast. Well, she'd bet Mrs. Bryant knew how. She
not only cooked for the Trainors, she probably cooked for the Bryants, too.
And they didn't look like a family which baked a whole canned ham to serve
three because the guest had previously dined with them and been served
roast beef.

"I love you, too. I've been appreciating the steam coming out of your ear.
Ever going to tell me the problem?"

"Not now, Andy."

"Well, remember I'm the engineer. We might not look like much, but we're
good at solving problems."

"I like your looks, but this is my problem to solve. If I can't, then I'll
ask you."

"That's fair. And all's fair in love and war."

"Are you sure that we're at war?" He laughed. He nuzzled the back of her
head for a minute, then he spoke again.

"You know, we're doing this to avoid night-time sex, but do you think I
could pet you -- very quietly -- tonight? I promise, I'll only try to bring
you off once."

"And what about you?"

"I won't be ready tonight. But you can be. I won't tease you the way I did
this afternoon. It wouldn't be fair when you're trying to be quiet."

"Andy, you're weird."

"Yeah! But I love you."

"And I love you, too. See how quiet you can be." And she'd try to be quiet,
too. Feed him on the cheap and enjoy orgasms at his hands -- was there
anything else to make him happy?

When the alarm went off at 5:00, they got up. A quick rinse under the
shower -- keeping even her hair dry -- hanging up towels and bath mat in
the bathroom, dressing. It all took less than half an hour. They were
downstairs with Andy showing her the library long before the door bell gave
two short rings. Jim Trainor let himself in.

"Really, you don't have to warn us," she told him. "I'm your guest."

"Well, I hope you will be a guest in this house often in years to come. I
would point out, though, Mrs. Trainor, that this is the Trainor house, and
you have no other residence until school opens in August. This is your
home, now."

"Well, if it's my home, I should get the food on the table." The food, of
course was prepared. The table was set. Still, she dished it up. The
kitchen table was the one set, and she put the food there. When the girls
had been there, they'd used the dining room for all meals but breakfast,
and she had chosen that. When the girls had been there, though, that meant
five persons per meal. The kitchen table would have been crowded.

"Point taken," Mr. Trainor said. "You married a very sharp gal, Andy.
You'll have to keep on your toes." That was ridiculous. She wasn't stupid,
but Andy was way beyond her in intellect. Mr. Trainor started saying grace,
though, and she couldn't interrupt. After grace, the two males got into a
political argument.

"After Nixon," said Andy, "the Republicans couldn't have expected the
country to go along with their next choice."

"Jerry Ford was a good man who didn't have a fair chance," his father
replied. "Don't you agree, Marilyn?"

"Look, I'm married to one of you. Do you really want me in the argument
too?" Mr. Trainor laughed.

"You don't deserve her, you know."

"I know, but I'm going to try to."

After dinner, she tried planning out meals for her new household. She got
through six days. Even then, she was afraid that her choices would strain
the food budget. That night, Andy slid one arm under her pillow before
stroking down her body with the other. Just before the lightning struck, he
pulled the pillow in front of her face. The gasp was lost in the pillow.
Andy stopped stroking then, as he had promised to do.

"I love you," he whispered. She hugged his arm until sleep took her.

When Mrs. Bryant came in the next morning, Marilyn had a question for her.

"I'm going to be a housewife, and I don't know much about it. I wrote out a
meal plan for six days, and I'd like to have your opinion on it."

"That a meal plan for here?"

"For Andy and me down in Champaign. We have a tight budget, and I don't
know many cheap meals."

"Well, let me look." She read the list of 30 meals without comment.

"I was wondering if you could teach me to cook some more cheap meals during
the next couple of weeks. I feel rotten, because you've three people to
look after and less time to do it in, but do you think you could teach me a
few?"

"Ms. Marilyn, you're worrying about the wrong things. Look, Mr. Trainor
gives me few orders. He asks. I'm no fool. If the man who pays you asks you
to do something and you don't do it, he hires somebody else who will do it.
Even so, it's nice to work for a gentleman." Had he asked her something
which would interfere with teaching her to cook more meals?

"What does that have to do with what I asked?"

"His last order was about you. You're in charge. I'm to do whatever you
tell me to do. What you want is the most important thing to do. If you set
me down here until time for me to go and his bed doesn't get made, I'll
just tell him that you needed me for something more important."

"Well, it's not more important."

"If you want it, it's more important to him. Now, for cooking cheaply,
there are two things I'd ask first. Can you eat breakfast cereal? What do
you think of rice?"

"Sure. I just think cereal is pretty far down on my list of choices for
breakfast. As to rice, I associate it with oriental food. I think of it as
fairly luxurious."

"Well, if I'm saving money on food, I don't cook eggs or even pancakes for
breakfast. Maybe save that for Sunday. And every meal has to contain
starch. Potatoes and rice are the cheapest starches. Really, rice is
cheaper. When you buy potatoes, you buy water and skin.

"Look, Ms. Marilyn, half of what you have here you could serve over rice.
Buy as big a package as you can get, as big a one as Andy can carry. It's
cheaper that way, and dry rice doesn't rot. Instead of a bun for sloppy
joes, make the mix and put it over rice. Rice with milk and brown sugar
makes a better breakfast than those packaged cereals, too, but white folk
don't eat it."

"Well, that's a start."

"Look, you want to learn to cook some cheap meals? What ones do you know?"

"That list is pretty much it."

"Can it wait 'til tomorrow?"

"Sure."

"Okay. I have to make out a shopping list." Mrs. Bryant seemed so busy with
other things, that she didn't seem that she could have a chance to make the
list. At lunch, though, she had a shopping list to hand to Andy.

Marilyn turned off the air conditioner in their room and made some
modification in her dress while he was gone. When he got back with the
groceries Marilyn helped put them away. There seemed to be a lot, and
neither of them could figure where such things as rice and navy beans went.
When they'd done what they could, she challenged him to a strip race. The
winner would be the first person naked in their room.

Immediately after she said that, she sprinted towards the staircase pulling
her blouse off as she went. Andy passed her on the stairs by taking them
two at a time. He was down to underpants and one sock by the time she had
her jeans and tennies off. She, however, had no underwear to remove.

"You cheated!"

"I won! That means you have to kiss my mouth and tits." He lifted her up
for a long kiss with tongue meeting tongue. When he lifted her further to
suck her nipples, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around
his neck.

"The bed's still made," he mumbled into her cleavage.

"Beds! Who needs them?" She eased her hug to allow his mouth more access.
He stroked down her back to clutch her ass cheeks. After squeezing them one
at a time -- left, right, left ..., he brought one hand under her until his
fingers could open her pussy lips. Then he stroked her cleft. While they
didn't need a bed, he did walk her over until she was dangling over theirs.
As her arousal soared, she felt dizzy and afraid of falling. She tightened
her arms until his mouth was pressed against her breastbone. Still, the
relentless finger stroked her; still, his other hand clenched and relaxed
around her right ass cheek. She felt herself tense, and clutched his back
more tightly. His arm moved to her waist and held her pressed against his
chest like a steel band.

Then lightning struck. She convulsed within his tight grip. The finger kept
moving and she convulsed again.

"Oh, love, oh, Marilyn, oh, darling, oh." While he said that, he held her
safely while her own arms dangled. "I love you," he said letting her slide
down his body slowly for an inch or two.  He was holding her with only one
arm while the other hand was busy opening her pussy lips. Then she felt him
at her entrance. "Oh, darling," he said again. She felt him enter a little
more as his hips rocked forward inside her thighs.

"Yes," she said as he lowered her a little more and entered her a little
more. He was hot and spreading her entrance ever wider. She tightened her
legs about his hips -- not to stop that entry but to prolong the sensation.
Slowly, he lowered her. Slowly, he entered her. Slowly, he spread her walls
apart. When her lips reached the level of his, their mouths opened and they
traded tongues. He was holding her tight, and she tightened her hug on his
neck to prolong the kiss. He swayed back and forth, barely moving himself
in and out.

The kiss ended as he moved her further down and himself further in. Minutes
later -- minutes which felt like days -- he was buried deep within her,
filling her as she'd never felt filled before. He kissed her forehead.

"Darling," he said, "sweet darling." He began to sway from side to side.
She felt dizzy, highly aroused, perilously suspended over the floor, held
secure in his arms, filled by him. And while her body hung suspended, her
spirit soared. She was flying up into the clouds, up among the lightning
bolts.

Then one struck her. She convulsed against him and convulsed around him.
Every muscle tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again. She could feel his
hardness in her center as she contracted around him.

"Darling!" He pulsed inside her contractions. He bent and lowered her to
the bed, bringing himself half out of her as he did. Then he thrust in
again, spiking her against the bedspread.

When she recovered, she was mostly across the bed with her head resting on
the edge of the mattress and her feet on the floor. He was resting on his
elbows above her with his belly against her mound and his cock somewhere
far outside. Her arms were flung wide, but her thighs still felt his weight.

"Love you," he said. He eased himself back.

"You too." She'd lie like this for a while -- maybe a week. If Andy would
close the door, nobody would come in.

She heard the shower run for a second. Later Andy came in with water
dripping from his crotch. He toweled himself off. He started to get dressed
again. After a minute, she got her own clothes on. She had to go downstairs
to get the blouse.

After Mrs. Bryant arrived the next morning, she started her lessons. She
and Marilyn would cook baked beans for dinner. Marilyn thought of the
preparation for baked beans as opening a can and adding a little flavoring.
Mrs. Bryant started by boiling dry navy beans. Marilyn did most of the hand
work, but Mrs. Bryant supervised. Marilyn wrote down the quantities of
ingredients, but she'd have to remember the tricks. When Mrs. Bryant left
for the afternoon, she had a large crock in the oven with directions as to
when Marilyn should turn the oven on and when she should turn it off.
Marilyn set the timer.

"I don't want to go upstairs," she told Andy. "There isn't all that much
time." There was nearly an hour, loads of time for almost anything. Not
nearly enough time for what Andy clearly wanted to do,  and she wanted to
do it, too.

"Let's go to the library." The library in the Trainor house was a place to
keep books. There were lamps, tables, chairs, and footstools, but the
shelves of books dominated the place. The shelves were built-in, but many
of the books were paperback. In the library, he lifted her and set her on
one of the footstools. Rather than the chairs which made her head higher
than his when she stood on them, this put her eyes about level with his
chin.

He poked her chin up with a finger and bent his head down to kiss her. This
went on for a long time while his hands roved her clothed body. It was
legal now; they had every afternoon now. They were in less of a hurry to
get naked than they'd been on movie dates. After a bit, he held her
shoulders while he walked around her. He kissed the side of her neck from
in back. When his hands went to her tits, she started unbuttoning her
blouse. He pulled the blouse out of her jeans. He unsnapped her bra before
cupping her tits with his hands. She sank back against him, and he kissed
the back of her right ear.

His hands stroked down over her stomach, and she loosened her belt and
waistband. With his hands outside her panties, he pushed the jeans down
past her hips. They fell the rest of the way without help. He switched his
kisses to the space just behind her left ear. She shivered at that, and
felt her panties being rolled down her thighs.

"Let me get out of these," she whispered. "I feel like I'm hogtied."
Actually, while she didn't like being constricted by the band of tightly
rolled nylon, she also didn't want to interrupt what his mouth was doing to
her neck and ears and what his finger was beginning to do around her center.

"Maybe I like having you tied up." He lifted his mouth for that statement,
but his finger was still busy on her cleft.

"You say you have to do what Mrs. Bryant tells you to do, and she says that
I'm the boss. So..."

"Nope! You have to tell her what orders to give me." Right. His dad had
given Mrs. Bryant afternoons off just so she wouldn't witness, let alone
discuss, what she and Andy did. If Mrs. Bryant had been around, Andy
wouldn't have had her panties around her knees because he wouldn't have had
them off her ass. There wasn't much room between her thighs, but Andy had
his whole hand in the tight space. His index finger was moving back and
forth along her cleft, and his thumb was moving over the bottom of her
mound. Neither was touching her clit, but she could feel the motions there.

"Andy!"

"You're supposed to love, honor, and *obey*."

"That wasn't in the service."

"You just weren't paying attention." Actually, she'd been paying very
careful attention. Andy was pressed against her, and she could feel his
hardon through his pants. Andy, once again, still had his jeans on. Her
struggles were obviously turning him on -- all right, her wiggles were
turning him on. Enjoying this game of dominance, she wasn't struggling
seriously.

"So what do you plan to do, caveman, drag me away by the hair?" Hers was
short enough to make that impractical.

"Sounds good." He walked so he was at her side and removed his hand from
between her legs. He rested the back of his hand on her mound and tightened
the hand into a fist. that caught some of the hairs there between his
fingers. He tugged gently. She couldn't help but laugh.

He came around to the front, and pushed her bra up with his forehead. He
clamped both hands over her ass cheeks while nuzzling her tits. He went
from nipple to nipple. He was suckling on the right one when the kitchen
timer went off.

"Now, you have to let me go. I've got to set the oven."

"Maybe not." He lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He set
off for the kitchen with one hand on her thigh and the other playing with
her cleft.

"Andy!" He ignored her as he went through the hall and the dining room.
When he got to the stove in the kitchen, he patted her ass. Then he turned
around so her head was suspended over the oven controls.

"So set the oven." It wasn't that easy from this position, but she managed.

"Now, I have to set the timer again." He walked over to the timer and
turned around so she could reach it. Her head was swimming, perhaps from
the position, just maybe because he was stroking her clit again. "Andy,
you're making it hard to concentrate."

"I'm concentrating just fine." Yeah! And what he was concentrating on was
making it hard for her to concentrate. "Besides, you're the one who's
making it hard." Dirty jokes, yet, in his father's kitchen. She set the
timer down, and he began to walk away. He gave her ass two more slaps, and
the second one stung.

"Andy!"

"Yeah. Who did you think had you over his shoulder?" He stopped slapping
her, but went back to teasing her clit. The waist of her jeans fell from
her ankles. More and more of the jeans trailed towards the floor as he
walked through the dining room. Her attention was increasingly captured by
the sensations his finger was arousing, but she noticed that they hadn't
gone into the library. Apparently, it was the living room.

"Andy! Put me down!"

"Okay. Use your arms to brace for the fall." He spun around, making her
dizzy for a second. Before she could recover, he was slipping her from his
shoulder. She broke the fall by grabbing on to something smooth and brown.
When her face was against it, she realized that she was on a huge armchair
that Mr. Trainor kept in his living room. Her legs were over the back, and
her hands were on the cushion. Andy held her down with a hand on her back
and kept stroking her clit.

"Andy! You can't bring me off in the living room." A little making out in
the family rooms was one thing. But sex belonged in their bedroom.

"I can't?... Ever hear about the experimental process?" He kept stroking.
The strokes were so smooth; the surroundings were so forbidding; the sex
play had been so prolonged. She felt highly aroused. She tried to hold
herself back, but Andy was relentless. When the lightning struck, she cried
out. She could feel her tits sliding over the smooth leather.

Andy pulled back on her hips, and she slid upwards a bit in the chair. She
felt a sharp tug on her feet from the jeans entrapping them. Then he was at
her entrance. There was so much of him. He spread her more firmly than ever
before. Somehow, from this position, it felt different. She couldn't move
in response. She was still holding on to the arms of the chair to keep from
slipping down, and her legs were trapped. Still, she kicked against the
constrictions as her arousal took control. She was not only held there, she
was captured. She was not only filled, she was invaded and occupied. Then
lightning struck, struck again as he thrust against her so hard that she
could feel his hipbones hit her ass.

"Darling," he said as he throbbed deep inside her. Then his hands hit the
chair arms behind hers and his weight was pressing her stomach against
unyielding leather.

"Get up, can you?" she said when she could speak.

"Sure." He was even heavier on her before he was off. As soon as he pulled
out, she could feel little Andies trickling down her leg. "Better let me
get your jeans back before you get up, though." She felt him fumbling at
her ankles. Then his hands were on her left shoulder and her right hip.
"Push back." He helped her get back up, and then he half lifted her to set
her on the floor. His strength was convenient for getting out of positions
like this. Of course, she wouldn't have been in that position were it not
for his strength.

As soon as she was vertical, the trickle out of her pussy became a torrent.
He unrolled her panties, and she pulled them on. At least that would catch
what she was leaking. She pulled up her jeans and fastened them.

"Andy..."

"What's the use of having the house to ourselves if we don't use it?" he
asked.

She laughed. "You're impossible." Then a thought occurred to her. "You're
sure of me, aren't you?"

"We're married." Well, they'd been married for 18 days, less a few hours.
But this masculine assertiveness was just showing up now. Andy had always
been sweet, but -- maybe -- too passive. Well, this dominance was welcome
for sex play. Maybe she should re-establish who was the alpha partner now,
though.

"Well, if you're going to tire me out downstairs, you know what you'll have
to do, don't you?"

"What?"

"Carry me upstairs. Not over your shoulder, but in your arms like you do
across thresholds." And so he did. She kept her arms around his neck, but
didn't hug too close. She wanted him to be able to see where he was going.
He went into their room and all the way to the bed. When he set her down in
the bed -- very gently -- he continued down to kiss her stomach.

When she got the energy, they shared a shower together. She dressed in
clean clothes from the skin out. She was loading up Mrs. Bryant with more
washing, as well as cooking instruction. Well, maybe she should offer
Andy's help on the laundry.

She got downstairs long before the timer rang. Mrs. Bryant had set the
dining room table this time. She cooked the broccoli and had the serving
dishes and the salad on the table when Mr. Trainor got home. He didn't
blink at the menu. Finally, Andy told him part of the reason.

"Marilyn cooked this."

"My compliments to the chef. It's delicious." Which would have sounded more
sincere if he had said it was delicious before Andy told him she'd cooked
it.

"Well, I cooked it under Mrs. Bryant's watchful eye. I don't know enough
cheap dishes, and she's teaching me some."

"Excellent. You did a great job on this one."

"You don't mind my kidnaping your menu?"

"I told her that you were in charge -- that your every whim should be
fulfilled. Then you ask her for help in making your future family life
better. My family, too, you know. And you apologize? The only question is
whether this will make you happier."

"Well, you know your distinction between pleasure and satisfaction. This is
about satisfaction, maybe dissatisfaction. I couldn't serve my husband a
rotation of six menus for months."

"I wouldn't have minded," Andy said.

"My son, *you* would eat porridge every meal and be happy if she served it.
*She* wouldn't be happy without fulfilling her image of a good wife."

"Then, too, I'd have to eat them. I'm not sure that I could tolerate
porridge for more than one meal, if that.

"I think," she continued, "your analysis is incomplete, Mr. Trainor."

"Oh, your opinion, his opinion, and what? Porridge, maybe, someone else
would hear about -- not a six-meal rotation." He was still on the last
conversation.

"Your analysis of happiness. There's pleasure, and satisfaction, and
contentment."

"Perhaps, but it sounds rather bland."

"Maybe it is, by itself. But you can't experience a lifetime of ecstasy,
not even a day of ecstasy. You can experience a lifetime of contentment --
as far as yourself goes, although maybe not the way of the world." She
could have said that better, but neither man looked confused. Andy came by
his intelligence honestly.

"An interesting trade."

"But not a trade. There's nothing in contentment that precludes pleasure or
even satisfaction. Maybe the satisfaction is about something you did when
you were discontented. As you say, you seldom get both from the same period
of time."

"And, Miss... Pardon me! And, Marilyn, what gives you pleasure? What gives
you satisfaction? What gives you contentment?"

"I get satisfaction from a great many things, from actually learning in a
class what I took the class to learn, from having had an impact on Zeta --
a positive impact, from feeding the two of you. On the others, if you'll
pardon me, I'll pass." Andy's father might have provided them with the bed,
but he didn't need to hear what Andy provided in it.

"Fair enough."

And, aside from praising the food each mealtime, he never mentioned her
cooking lessons again.

After Mrs. Bryant arrived on Thursday, Marilyn had to chase Andy out.

"Do you have any sheets that aren't new and fresh?"

"Lots of old sheets, none that haven't been washed." She stripped beds on
Mondays, just before doing the wash.

"Well, I'm about to start my period. May I have some old sheets to make the
bed again? It would be a shame to spoil the new sheets."

"Mr. Trainor has lots of old top sheets. The fitted bottoms get worn or
torn and I use them for rags. The top sheets just stay. Do you want a
couple of them for pads?"

"If I might." And a dozen of them appeared in the room sometime before
noon, folded. Mrs. Bryant never asked why she couldn't keep her menstrual
blood off the sheets.

That day, she learned how to make Spanish rice and to cook grits. They had
the grits for lunch.

"It's really a breakfast food," Mrs. Bryant said. "It's better with butter,
but we're trying margarine because you said you'll be on a budget."

She had Andy spread two of the extra sheets over the bed. Even though it
was the first day of her flow and consequently copious, he wasn't bothered.
Instead, he was grateful that they'd be having sex these days, as well.

"Only in here, though," she told him.

"Anything you say."

The amounts Mrs. Bryant used for the meals Marilyn cooked produced more
left-overs than Andy ate. Maybe it was because Marilyn still cooked
breakfast. She shuddered at the thought of Andy's eating cold, left over
baked beans for breakfast. Sometimes, the three of them had the remains of
an earlier night's dinner for lunch. Sometimes she reheated them for
week-end meals.

Mom told her that her parents would pay the sorority dues and parlor fee.
She expressed her gratitude, but it was more gratitude than she felt. When
she'd thought about it, she figured that she'd already made her impact on
Zeta. You don't grope a Zate, and the frats knew that. The next girl to
date a non-Greek wouldn't be hassled. Probably Kathy would have pledged
anyway, but Marilyn had spoken in favor of bidding on an engineering major.

Still, she was pleased to finish out her time at Zeta. Her relationship
with the rest of the chapter had been different every year, and it was
bound to be different this year. That thought reminded her that she was due
to return to campus early for the Zeta chapter organization.

"You know," she told Andy, "this summer has been great fun, but it's time
to get back to the single limbo of campus."

"Single limbo?" he asked. Hadn't she ever mentioned her idea to him?

"We're in a sort of double limbo here. What we're going to be is a couple
who are individually productive members of society. School is a limbo. This
is a double limbo. We're not preparing for our careers; we're just enjoying
ourselves."

"I've heard that 'Life is what happens while you're getting ready for
life.'"

"Well, yes. As I said, it's been quite enjoyable. But even school. You know
that I have the greatest respect for what you've done, the grades you've
got, but if you don't actually practice engineering in the future, what
will you're accomplishments matter?"

"You have a point."

Andy was displeased when they discovered that apartment wouldn't be
available until Tuesday. After all, that was still before registration
would begin.

"We could take a room in a motel."

"Andy, please. That's not in our budget. That's three days. Anyway, I'll
have to be busy most of those three days, and I'll have to stay at the
house Saturday night, at least."

"You said every night in my arms."

"Well, if we had waited until next year, we would have missed a lot of
times that we already have had."

"All right. But I don't have to like it." To compensate him, she spent what
afternoons she could lying in bed with him after their sex. He didn't get
as many hours with her in his arms, but he got more waking hours.

She took the train down to Champaign on Saturday. The buffet at the house
was as lavish as it had been the years before. She wondered briefly whether
the cooks fed their own families the way that Mrs. Bryant fed hers. Since
she had to wake the others, she turned in early.

The next morning, she pounded on doors until people said that they were
awake. Closer to the time for the meeting, she went back to check on the
ones who hadn't come downstairs after a reasonable time. She passed out
aspirin, having bought two large bottles of generic in Evanston. After
breakfast, she convened the meeting.

"Okay. I'm Marilyn Trainor, elected vice president as Marilyn Grant. I'm
most of what's left of the executive committee. You'll elect new officers
today, and they'll take office tomorrow. Any questions?"

"Yeah. Where's Andy?"

"He's coming down on Tuesday, when the Student Housing office will let us
into our apartment. And that question was out of order. Nominations for
President."

"I nominate Marilyn," said Denise.

"I'm not running for anything. I'm not living in the house this year. More
nominations." Gail and Peggy were nominated. Peggy, who'd been her roommate
freshman year, won.

Karen and Beverly were nominated for vice president, a more recent roommate
and her little sister. Beverly won. The final slate looked like:
 . President -- Peggy
 . Vice president -- Beverly
 . Treasurer -- Diane
 . Chaplain -- Margot
 . Social chair --  Lisa
 . Academic chair -- Martha
 . Facilities chair -- Grace
 . Charities chair -- Christine, for a second year
 . Pledge chair -- Gail

They would take office the next day, but she still had to run the meeting
for the rest of Sunday.

Monday, Grace called for roommate selection, and recited the rules: nobody
could room with a former roommate or a woman of her line. A room had to
include two years at least. There would only be a limited number of
doubles, and there were rules for qualifying for those. Marilyn asked for
recognition. The day before, she had been the one recognizing. Now, she
needed Peggy's nod, but she got it.

"Look, some of you will think I've no business addressing room assignments,
since I won't be in one. I do think, however, we need to consider whether
we'll keep squeezing pledges into three rooms. This last year we had one
room containing 6, and I was sorry for them. We could have three rooms
containing 6 apiece, at the outside. What happens if 19 girls accept our
bids? Of course, giving freshmen four rooms would mean three fewer doubles."

"And what if 15 accept?" Asked Janet, a new junior. "That's more likely.
Only 16 accepted this year. That would mean nine upperclassmen living in
triples so that three pledges can live in a triple." Her arithmetic was
wrong. Three of those nine would live in a triple, anyhow. Still, for women
who had suffered as pledges their freshman year, the argument was strong.

"Really," Grace said, "while I respect Marilyn and welcome her optimism, we
only have 18 bedrooms in all. While there is a little drop off from one
year to the next in residents -- some girls drop out of school; other girls
might get married and move out of the house, though we don't know anyone
who would do that -- more than 14 average per class living in the house
would mean some of the upperclassmen would have to live with three
roommates if we allowed four rooms for pledges."

Marilyn's suggestion was voted down.

When Andy called late Tuesday, he was installed in the new apartment. He
picked her up in the car. When he got to the apartment, he picked her up
literally. How many thresholds was he going to carry her over? She pictured
him carrying her into their retirement home when they both had white hair.

Compared with his room for the previous year, this apartment was opulent.
It had a living room, a separate bedroom, a real kitchen that held a table,
and a bathroom. The kitchen had a reasonable number of cabinets, but they
nearly filled them with what Mrs. Bryant had sent. Not only were there a
sufficiency of cooking utensils, she'd shipped all the food that she'd
ordered to teach Marilyn to cook cheaply and only partly used. Most of what
she'd learned required time to cook, but she sent Andy out for cheese and
had the maccaroni boiled by the time he returned.

After supper, they went to bed. Andy attacked, there is no other word, her
with his mouth. He held her lying on her stomach while he kissed from her
ankle all the way up to the sensitive spot on the side of her neck. She was
already wet before she turned over and he kissed her on the mouth. When
that long tongue-duel ended, he started down her front. Neither of them
doubted where he was going, but that trip seemed to take forever. When he
finally reached her pussy lips, the eon of preparation had a predictable
result. On his second lick across her clit, lightning struck.

He didn't let up. She squirmed all around the bed while he licked and
sucked her clit. Only her hips, held down by his considerable weight
through his arms, stayed anywhere near the same place. She was floundering
with her head nearly off the side of the bed and begging for him to enter
her when finally he did. He joined her in her last climax. When he moved
off, he pulled her into his arms and covered them with a sheet. Daylight
was still coming through the window when she dropped off.

It was day outside again when she woke. He was still holding her, but his
cheek was smooth That meant that he'd been up and had shaved. After she
took her own bathroom time, he insisted that she come back to bed.

"Look, you had four days out of my arms."

"Three. You had me last night, and daytimes are a bonus."

"Okay, but I think you should allow me to run our times together for three
days, today, tomorrow, and Friday. Do you have to be at Zeta house this
morning?"

"No. They're doing rooms this morning, and I'm already moved out. I do,
however, have to cook you breakfast. Do we have margarine and salt?" She'd
already seen the package of grits.

"Mrs. Bryant sent a box of salt and a bag of sugar. She told me to buy
margarine, milk, and eggs down here."

"Did you save the receipt?"

"I think so."

"We're going to save all the receipts for groceries."

"Why? When I buy for Dad, I need them for reimbursements, but..." A long
pause. "We still haven't got your name on the checking account. I have the
papers here, but you have to go in." Skip the bank for now.

"Well, we're going to keep a record of every penny we spend for groceries.
And we're going to add them up to make sure we're not going over budget."

"Okay. But can I run our time -- when you're here?"

"I have to cook, but otherwise you can control me through Friday. You can't
do what your did last night, though. If I'm a puddle on the mattress
without the strength to get up, saying, 'Okay, Marilyn, you can leave for
your duties,' doesn't work."

"All right, but you're so beautiful then. Can I start now?" With Andy's
metabolism, he should be hungrier than she was. If so, that was clearly not
his greatest hunger.

"But I have to cook later." Without further comment, he began to kiss her.
The kisses on her face ended with a long, wet kiss. Then he went lower.
When she had climaxed, he hugged her in the spoon and pulled the sheet over
them. When his stomach growled, she got up. In the bathroom, she thought
about putting on her makeup. Somehow, she expected that it would only get
smeared. She'd put it on before leaving. She might as well delay her
shower, too; she'd need one after what Andy was planning. When she came out
of the bathroom, she started to dress in last night's clothes.

"It's warm," Andy said.

"Andy, I'm going to be cooking."

"Wear an apron. I brought two." Aprons were to protect clothes against food
splashes, not to protect skin. And what would protect her against the
voyeur lying in bed with his glasses on? On the other hand, she had said he
could control things today. She put on the apron and cooked grits. After
they ate together, he put the dishes in the sink. She started the beans
cooking. Today's supper would be baked beans. It took two stages of
preparation, and that was fitting for a day without morning duties.

She hung up the apron and headed towards the bedroom. She could guess that
his plans didn't center around a long discussion of the budget in the
living room. He stopped her before she reached the bed and turned her so
her back was towards it.

He knelt on the carpet and started to kiss her tits. He stroked her all
over before concentrating on her thighs. When he pushed her to sit down,
her knees were wobbly enough that she welcomed it. Then he put her legs on
his shoulders while he kissed her pussy. When the lightning struck, his
hands were on her tits. It stuck again before he let her drop back to
recover. He then lifted her and put her down lying on his side of the bed.
He covered her with the sheet, then he crawled in beside her on her side
and lay on his back. His cock was sticking straight up. Well, he had only
himself to blame that he hadn't put it where it belonged.

"When you're ready, I'll help you aboard." It was about time. These had
been delightful, but she'd begun to feel empty. She knelt straddling him,
getting into just the right position. Slowly, she lowered herself until he
was filling her. When she started back up, he held her hips. "Now lie on
me." She lay down, still moving slowly and carefully. He hugged her in a
way that crushed her tits to his chest. When he rolled them to her right,
she got her left leg down. When he rolled them to her left, she got her
right leg down and he did something with the sheet. Every time he moved
under her, he also moved inside her. "Want the sheet?"

"Yeah." The day was getting warmer, and they were alone, but she felt
awfully exposed like this.  He got the sheet across her over his arms. Now,
he was hugging her with one arm and pulling her against him by the ass with
the other hand.

"In my arms," he said. They were going to stay like this 'til the timer
rang? If so, her tits were going to stay crushed.

"Let me raise up a little on top." He eased the arm around her back. She
tried to support herself with hands on the bed, but that put a lot of
stress on her arms. His chest was significantly wider than hers was. She
lay with her forearms on his chest and her hands on his shoulders. You'd
think that would hurt him, but his only response was to turn his head to
kiss her wrist. Every one of her motions moved him inside her. When he
pushed her a little further down by her hip bones, he went into her more
deeply.

"Now," he said putting both hands on her ass, "you're in my arms. They
going to need you any time soon?" 'They' presumably meant Zeta.

"No, They're doing room moves, and -- in case you hadn't noticed -- I don't
have a room there any more. They have two vacancies in my old room, which
will help Grace." He asked about the move, and she told him the
complexities: Almost all actives would be moving. Most of the beds and
dressers to which they were moving, all the rooms, would have occupants
already.

"What they should do, is leave the sophomores 'til last. Nobody is moving
into those rooms." They'd already figured that out. "Everybody strip beds.
Then the one moving in could dump everything on the bed, like I do with
laundry before I sort it. They could put their sheets on top of the dresser
in their old room, and empty out the dresser drawers as they move out.
Sophomores could help their grand big sisters and then their big sisters.
Then they could help her. When everybody is moved, everybody fills her
dresser. It shouldn't take more than a morning, even with too much traffic
in the halls."

Great! Her engineer had his cock buried in her pussy, and he was solving
the moving problem off the top of his head. Still, that sounded like it
would work. She might mention it to Grace. That he could think of something
like that when he was in her, though, contradicted everything he'd ever
said about her sexiness. She tightened her pussy around him, and he moved
one hand to her left tit. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb.

"Stay here," he said. And she stayed there until the timer rang. Then she
went to the kitchen to turn off the beans. She got back into the apron and
completed the preparation for baked beans. He sat watching her. When he
stood up, he still had a hardon.

"Maccaroni and cheese all right for lunch?" she asked him.

"Later. We have loads of time." Which wasn't the question. It was, however,
his priority. She took off the apron and twitched her ass as she walked
into the bedroom. "Take the other side," he said. did he want to change
sides of the bed with her? She was willing; it wasn't as if she had a long
history of sleeping on one side of the bed. When she lay on his side, he
came around the bed and knelt down.

First, he kissed her. Then his hand stroked down to her pussy. He kissed
her tits and sucked her nipples until she felt highly aroused. Then he
looked at her as the lightning struck. His gaze at her thrashing about on
the bed was embarrassing, but also sexy as hell. He left his hand on her
mound when she relaxed and bent to kiss her again. They went through the
same thing twice more.

"Andy," she cried when he began to stroke her cleft again. "I need you now."

"But you're so beautiful like that," he said. Nevertheless, he climbed on
the bed between her legs. He stared at her eyes while she put him where he
belonged. He slid in slowly but quite smoothly. She was so wet by then that
he could have floated in.

"So full," she said when he was all the way in. He kissed her forehead.

"So warm, so smooth, so welcoming." She was more than welcoming. She'd
missed him; her pussy had missed him terribly. He moved out slowly and in
even more slowly. Her hips drove her pussy up to engulf him when he didn't
enter quickly enough. "Love," he said, but he kept moving slowly.

"Love!" he shouted when lightning struck her. He grabbed her shoulders and
rammed into her. She could feel him pulse deep within. Then he collapsed
over her.

When the timer rang, he got up and went to the kitchen.

"It doesn't seem to be on," he called. Well, the timer wasn't for turning
the stove off; the timer was for turning the cook on.

"I need to start my preparations." She got up and headed into the bathroom.
He came in right after she got in the shower.

"No fair," he said. When was the rule was written that she couldn't take a
shower alone? Well, he could run these three days. Besides, he was
convenient for washing her back. He was more interested, though, in washing
her front. Even so, they got through in a reasonable time. He dried her,
but she started putting on her face while he dried himself. She chased him
out to let her relieve herself and use a douche in privacy. The budget
wasn't going to cover many of those, but if she put on panties so soon
after sex she'd have him soaking her panties the entire chapter meeting.

The bed was made when she came out, and he was in the kitchen dishing out
the left-over maccaroni and cheese. She'd intended to heat it up, but it
wouldn't be all that bad cold, and she didn't feel like asserting herself.
As a matter of fact, she didn't have much energy for anything.

"You know, you really drained me."

"But you look so sweet writhing like that." Writhing? Was that what she did
in her climaxes? And Andy liked to watch? Well, it probably was as good
exercise as tennis, and one hell of a lot more fun. Anyway, he hadn't
objected to her dressing completely. The cold mac-and-cheese wasn't all
that bad. Whatever Andy's other faults, he'd eat left-overs cheerfully.
They'd probably have to establish some rule as to which he could eat for
snacks, but she wasn't looking forward to another meal of this dish. The
baked beans, now, would feed two -- even if one of the two was Andy --
several meals. Dinner tonight, Sunday supper, lunch sometime next week?

"Look, could you drive me to the house? I'm running late." And he wasn't
dressed yet.

"Um, why don't you drive yourself. There's plenty of gas. I'll get..." He
got up and picked up his pants. "Don't you have your keys?" And so she did.
This wasn't her boyfriend who'd gladly drive her in his car. This was her
husband, and there was no reason she shouldn't drive herself in the
*family* car. "Go out the main entrance and turn right. We have our own
slot. It's fifth from the north-west corner."

"Kiss before lipstick?" she asked. He lifted her up to kiss her. She put on
her lipstick and picked up her purse. "Love you."

"Love you," he said. He opened the door for her. Luckily there was nobody
to see his nudity. She'd have to explain how the rules about opening doors
had changed due to their marriage. Or should she? She had been damn glad to
have a gentleman as a boyfriend; why shouldn't she have one as a husband?
She'd have to set strict limits on nakedness, though.

It had been incredibly generous of Jim Trainor to take them into his house.
But now they were in their own home, really *theirs*. And they would make
the decisions. Andy's wishes were important, and so far Andy's wishes had
led to great fun, but there were rules she had to decide, too.

The end
Double Limbo - F
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2012/04/16


These same events from Andy's perspective:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_10m.htm
Andy's experience

The first adventures of Marilyn with Andy:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/tra_01f.htm
"The Meeting - F"

Another story about another couple starting married life:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/Gjt/bla_04f.htm
"In the Morning - F"

The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm
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